Silk
by kates1304
Summary: Judge John Deed fic
1. Chapter 1

Peering out of the large bay window of his smart, Mayfair flat he sees her pull up, right on time as always. In the nine months that they have been meeting she has never been early and she has never been late; she is always exactly on time. He watches two slender legs encased in sheer black stockings emerge from the car and the rest of her soon follows as she balances flawlessly in her neat stiletto heels. As she bends into the car to reach for her briefcase he catches a brief glimpse of her underwear; a conspicuous red thong, unexpected for one with such a professional exterior. She is obviously attempting to entice him because he knows that she knows that he watches her. Sure enough as she turns away from the car she gives him a jaunty wave and trots up the steps to the front door of the building. Neither of them wonder about who might see them – at this hour of the night they know that no one will be watching. Only when the orange glow of the streetlamps bouncing off her shiny car and the damp streets is all that is left to see out of the window does he turn and buzz her into the building.

'My Lord, I would urge you to reconsider…' she looks at him imploringly and tilts her head to one side. If she gave him puppy-dog eyes she couldn't be more obvious but she always has known how to have him eating out of the palm of her hand. Generally her mere presence is enough to have him doing as she wishes.

'Mrs Mills, I simply have no choice but to hand out a custodial sentence' he squirms slightly uncomfortably and for just a moment her smile falters and he sees the truly determined woman beneath. The woman who will never give up on what she believes in without first fighting to the death; the strong, principled woman who has long ruled both his head and his heart. The woman who since her recent engagement, he has tried exceedingly hard to deny the existence of, for it is not her smile that betrays uncertainty which he knows she does not feel that he loves, nor is it her kind eyes that allow him to see deep within her soul or the raucous laugh that he used to believe was reserved only for him. It is her sheer, unbridled passion for what she believes is right that he loves and the rest; well the rest is just a bonus.

'My Lord…' another beseeching smile and she glances up at the defendant, a small skinny lad of thirteen, barely more than a child. A child who misguidedly became embroiled in graffiti warfare with a much larger, more violent gang. A child so terrified by the leader of this gang that, against his own better judgement and that of his older brother who was the only member of his family in whom he confided, that he had started to carry a knife. No one, not even the prosecution could seriously believe that he had ever intended to use it and the injury to the thug whom he had turned on in a fit of panic was not severe; little more than a graze in the grand scheme of things but even so, the charge is severe and he knows that he has little choice. Perhaps there is even a part of him that thinks that the child would be better off in jail than on the estate still lorded over by the injured party and his gang, a place where surely he would be the victim of reprisal attacks.

'The charge of Actual Bodily Harm is a serious one and carried a minimum custodial sentence. I have implemented a recommendation that during this period both the defendant and his family are relocated to another estate so that, when he is released and that the sentence is served in a minimum security institution' he gives her a look and he knows that she reads him like a book; she knows him well enough to know that she is fighting a losing battle and he sees her turn and look apologetically to her client 'my decision will not be reversed'

'Thank you My Lord' she mumbles, giving him a curt nod before resuming her seat as court is dismissed and the great and good of one of the local sink estates meander away to either continue terrorising the other residents or live in fear.

'Mrs Mills' Coop's announcement is barely heard over the slamming, first of the door and then of the palms of Jo's hands on his desk. Only when she is leaning towards him, her eyes mere millimetres from his, lips that dare him to plant a thousand kisses upon them curling with distaste, does he look up and give a small smile of acknowledgement.

'Hello Jo' he murmurs, vaguely amused by her outburst as she pulls away from the desk, leaning her head back and kicking the sofa with temper, a small growl of frustration crossing her lips as she turns back to him, her blue eyes burning with outrage 'tea?'

'No' she waves a hand dismissively, throwing herself down on the hard leather armchair not occupied my Minnie 'no tea, no coffee, just answers. Why did you do that? He was thirteen – he'll never survive… have you learned nothing?'

'Jo, the law is clear. He was found guilty of a very serious offence and regardless of how strong his mitigation I had little choice but to hand out a custodial sentence. You will, of course, be perfectly free to contest the sentence but I warn you that any other judge would have handed out the same' he tips his head to one side and waits for her anger to run out of steam as it invariably does during this comforting dance that, while appearing to be based largely upon the professional, is as much personal.

'I never thought that you were one to hide behind the laws you profess to despise' she mutters, sinking her head into her hands and looking up at him with disgust 'I always thought that you were better than that'

'I know, I know' he gives another amused smile that comes out as little more than a grimace and moves to the sofa, sitting facing her and leaning towards her so, once again, there is little more than millimetres between their faces 'You thought that with my flagrant flouting of the sentencing guidelines and your passion for the underdog we could change the world…'

'One court case at a time' at this she gives a small smile and leans back in her chair, burying her face in her hands and he knows that this gesture is as much to avoid looking him in the eyes as anything else. He knows her so well that there is no small action or expression on her face that he cannot read like a book and he knows that she can say the same about him. The only thing he cannot understand is what happened to make it all fall apart.

'You cancelled your wedding yet?' he enquires innocently, a jaunty smile upon his face as he pours two cups of coffee and pours one towards her which she accepts with a twisted smile. This is a question that he asks whenever they meet and, like every other time, she neglects to answer it. He comforts himself with the knowledge that he will know when she has called off the wedding – he does not doubt that she will for they both know in their hearts that she loves Marc more for his son than for himself – that he will be the one called upon to pick up the pieces. That one day, ideally not too far in the future, she will appear on his doorstep with an overnight bag and a smile. Despite this certainty, he is beginning to wonder how long she will leave it; will she leave him on the eve of the wedding or worse, jilt him at the alter. He doesn't like the man but he doesn't deserve such humiliation, which isn't to say that he wouldn't enjoy it if it were to arise.

'John…' she glances up at him, a small smile upon her lips and an apology in her eyes 'I love Marc, I'm not just going to leave…'

'You loved me once…' he remarks wistfully and leans over to the small end-table and pours a measure of whiskey into his coffee '…not so long ago, as I recall. What changed'

'Nothing. That's the whole problem, John; nothing changed and I grew tired of hoping that something would. Marc is change, John. He's so different to you, he's warm, kind and he doesn't even look at other women. Can you honestly say that you love me enough to give up all of the other women for me?'

'Yes' his reply is without hesitation but as soon as the words cross his lips he can see that she doesn't believe him; that she cannot allow herself to once again be sucked into his relentless circle of lies, indiscretions and apologies.

'I don't believe you' she stands, pushing away her coffee and making her way to the door with barely a pause to affectionately rub the top of the dog's head and examine the dent that her earlier fit of temper left in the leg of the rosewood and leather sofa 'I'm sorry, John, I just can't believe you'


	2. Chapter 2

_As she slips through the door one slender leg brushes against his and an immaculately manicured hand is placed on his shoulder as she steadies herself, leaning slowly towards him and pecking him on the cheek. He watches as she places her soft, black, leather briefcase beside his red Government one at the end of the cream leather sofa and takes a seat, stretching her long legs out in front of her as he takes the seat opposite her, the seat that affords a marvellous view of her entire body; even though this arrangement is purely business, and she has made it abundantly clear that it will remain so,_ _he can see no harm in maximising his enjoyment of their exchanges and it seems that neither can she for she flirts mercilessly at any opportunity that may arise. _

'_Did you bring the papers?' she asks in cold, clipped tones 'because I refuse to act until I know that I'm not just being played by your department…'_

'_They're in the briefcase' he murmurs, smiling with appreciation as she leans forward and picks up the case, passing it to him and in the process giving him a gratuitous glimpse at the crimson bra, clearly purchased as a pair with the thong, and the sumptuous cleavage that nestles snugly within it 'here…' he passes her the papers and she takes them without a word, flicking through them and raising an eyebrow at some of the less usual details of the case 'so you see why I need the case to be heard by someone reliable…'_

'_The managing director of one of the Government's largest telecommunications companies being accused of rape and all manner of corporate theft, yes, I understand perfectly' she gives a slow smile and licks her lips in a manner that is designed to entice him, to make him as pliable as possible before she delivers her request, whatever it may be. They both know that he'll be unable to refuse; to do so would be both personal and professional suicide – she'd be singing to both the PM and George before the night was out and by the morning he'd be jobless, wifeless and homeless. _

'_Go on…' he states wearily, fearing what is coming and already planning his route out of the country if she chooses today to demand the impossible as opposed to the highly complicated practices of dubious legality that she has requested thus far._

'_I want to be made a presiding judge…' she states silkily, running a hand through her hair and flashing him a dazzling smile 'of Highfield Crown Court…''But Mr Justice Everard…' he protests weakly, knowing that it is futile – as demands go, this one is relatively easy to fulfil 'Alright, consider it done. Give me until the end of the week…' he sighs eventually, mentally earmarking Everard for a seat on the appellant bench and away from Highfield 'Oh and that vacancy on the appellant bench…' she adds and the sinking feeling overwhelms him._

'Jo, call me…' he states for what feels like the thousandth time in the evening but is, in reality, probably only the second or third time he's called her, wondering where she is, what she's doing and why he has been stood up for dinner. He's not accustomed to being the one wasting an evening sitting at a table in an expensive restaurant minus his dining comparison while getting steadily more drunk and it isn't an experience that he has enjoyed being on the receiving end of, especially when it is her who hasn't appeared. It just isn't his style – she is well mannered to the point of being prim and will always, always call if she's going to be late, let alone not going to appear at all '…just let me know that you're okay…'

'I'm okay John' the voice on the other end of the phone is husky with unshed tears, alcohol and, if he's not mistaken, desire 'I've had a difficult day…'

'Problem with Marc?' he asks, ever hopeful that finally, at long last, the sham that is their relationship has fallen to pieces. It is inevitable that one day it will and he is ashamed to say that it is a day that he longs for.

'Problem with me, more like' she states bitterly and he hears her down another drink, probably the latest in a long line to be consumed while she should have been meeting him for dinner 'Marc can't understand why it is that I'm compelled to keep on seeing you and, to be honest, I can't understand it either'

'Because you love me' he states with certainty, knowing that she isn't going to admit to it 'because you want to be with me, not Marc, and having platonic meals with me is the next best thing until you admit that…'

'God you're an arrogant man John Deed' she spits venomously and he hears another drink being downed, a sound that concerns him to the point that he finds himself searching for his car keys so that he can, if need be, drive to her aid and stop her drinking herself into a coma.

'I prefer confident' he states with a smirk and crosses his legs so his perch on the kitchen stool becomes even more precarious 'and I have every reason to be, Jo, I know you'll come back…'

'Arrogant' she repeats 'and to say that I'll come back implies that you ever had me in the first place. You didn't; for a long time I was the other woman and for even longer you've had women other than me but it was never just us, was it John…'

'It can be…'

'Until the next short skirt calling itself a legal clerk walks into your court room' she states with certainty 'you only ever want me when you can't have me…'

'The only short skirt I'm interested in is yours…' he winces at the line as he says it and feels that her amused snort is thoroughly deserved – either he really is turning into one of the lecherous old Law Lords who he despises or the current situation has robbed him of any imagination that he may have possessed. Before he has a chance to contemplate this further she replies…

'Well in future I shall be sure to wear trousers when appearing in your court, not that appearing before you is a situation that I won't try to avoid at all costs'

'As long as we're both inextricably drawn to the most controversial and interesting cases, I'd say our working together was a foregone conclusion, wouldn't you?'

'You and I both know that isn't how it works; it's the cab rank principle and you always make sure that we're both going for cabs at the same time…' she hiccups sadly and he takes the opportunity to cut in…

'That's because we're starting from the same place…'

'No John, we aren't, and we're not going to end up in the same place either; one day your legendary gift with women will desert you and you'll end up with no concept of personal space and the improprieties of touching up young barristers, just like dozens and dozens of judges before you…'

'Has someone been harassing Charlie?' he cuts in with concern and she merely laughs…

'No. You're going to end up old, sad and lonely and I'm going to end up happily married. Again. That's how it works, John, that's how all of this ends…'

'You're wrong Jo; it ends with you and me together…'

'In which case you'll still have an eye for young barristers John; you always did or have you forgotten how we started out…'

'I could never forget that, Jo…'

'Goodbye John…' she states sadly and he hears her hesitate before putting the phone down, the dialling tone ringing in his ear for several moments before it pierces his reverie and he gets up, collecting his coat. He needs some sympathy and he can think of only one place where he is likely to find it.


End file.
